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Far away, amidst the regions
Of the bright and balmy east, Guarded by angelic legions, Till death's slumber shall have ceased, (How should we its stillness stir?) Lies the Saviour's sepulchre.
Far away ;—yet thought would wander
(Thought by faith's sure guidance led) Farther yet to weep, and ponder Over that sepulchral bed. Thither let us haste, and flee On the wings of phantasy.
Haste, from every clime and nation,
Fervent youth, and reverent age; Peasant, prince,—each rank and station,Haste, and join this pilgrimage. East and west, and south and north, Send your saintliest spirits forth.
Mothers, ere the curtain closes
Round your children's sleep to-night, Tell them how their Lord reposes, Waiting for to-morrow's light; Teach their dreams to Him to'rove, Him who lov'd them, Him they love.
Matron grave and blooming maiden,
Hoary sage and beardless boy, Hearts with grief and care o'erladen, Hearts brimful of hope and joy, Come, and greet in death's dark hall, Him who felt with, felt for all.
Men of God, devoutly toiling
This world's fetters to unbind;
Ye who roam our seas and mountains,
Messengers of love and light; Ye who guard truth's sacred fountains, Weary day and wakeful night; Men of labour, men of lore, Give your toils and studies o'er.
Dwellers in the woods and valleys,
Ye of meek and lowly breast;
From your halls of stately beauty,
Lo, His grave! the grey rock closes
O'er that virgin burial-ground;
And the morn with floods of splendour
Fills the spicy midnight air;
Bird, and beast, and insect rover,—
E'en the lilies of the field, Till His gentle life was over,
Heavenly thought to Him could yield. All that is, to Him did prove, Food for wisdom, food for love.
But the hearts that bow'd before Him
Most of all to Him were dear; Let such hearts to-night watch o'er Him Till the day-spring shall appear :— Then a brighter sun shall rise Than e'er kindled up the skies.
All night long, with plaintive voicing,
Chant His requiem soft and low;
THE RESURRECTION I got me flowers to strew Thy way; I got me boughs off many a tree: But Thou wast up by break of day And brought'st Thy sweets along with Thee. The sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and the East perfume;
If they should offer to contest
With Thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
He is gone—and we return,
He is gone—and we remain
We have still His work to do,
He is gone—but we once more
He is gone—but not in vain;
A. P. Stanley
With merry noise of trumpet-sound,
Sing praises then, sing praises loud
Unto our universal King: He who ascended on a cloud,
To Him all laud and praises sing.